


Palo Alto Hunt

by jedipati



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen, Preseries, Stanford Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 22:35:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedipati/pseuds/jedipati
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam may be a college student, but he can't ignore people dying. Even if he has to do a Hunt with no backup. He'll manage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Palo Alto Hunt

**Author's Note:**

> A little heavy on the angst, I’m afraid. No real spoilers. 
> 
> Many thanks go to for betaing this story for me.

Ladies and Gentlemen: Sam Winchester, College Freshman Extraordinaire, and terminal klutz, Sam thought to himself as he tripped over his own two feet. Thankfully, no one noticed. Sam would be so glad when he was done growing. He was already an inch taller then his father; he couldn’t grow that much more, right?

Sam suppressed the thought of his father ruthlessly. Thinking about John Winchester right now wasn’t going to help him. Right now, he had to figure out what was killing the engineering seniors.

Sam was grateful that it was spring break, and the library was deserted as he went about his search, trying to find out what might have a grudge against the students.

He ignored the few people around him as he entered the library. Luckily, the librarians thought he was researching for a mythology paper.

Sam had chosen to do a minor in religious studies for precisely that reason, so he had an excuse if a Hunt came up and he couldn’t ignore it. That and the fact that he knew the material, so it was an easy way to keep his GPA up.

This time, however, he headed for where the old newspapers were kept on microfiche. 

Within an hour, Sam had established a pattern. Every five years, going back to 1933, four engineering seniors would be killed during the same week in April. This year, it just happened to coincide with spring break, so Sam had plenty of free time to research it.

Sam stretched for a moment before returning to his research. He had a starting point, so now he could try to find out what had happened.

He moved from the school paper to the local papers, concentrating on 1933. Five hours later, he had what he was fairly certain was the answer.

In 1933, a young coed was found beaten and brutalized just off campus. She was taken to a hospital, but she died of her injuries barely a week later.

The next week, the same week of April, four senior engineering students were dead, all of them men.

Sam knew that this Betty Johnson was the most likely cause of death, but he couldn’t be completely sure. He wanted to check out her grave, and maybe a few other records before he took care of the problem. 

Sam cleaned up the research station with a smile. He’d taken notes, so if he needed to come back, he’d have no trouble finding the information again. But he doubted he’d need to come back.

He sighed as his stomach grumbled. It was nearly dinnertime, and he’d skipped lunch.

He hitched his backpack up and headed for the dorm dining room. He could grab an early dinner and then get back to work.

Brady, his roommate, had gone home for break, so Sam could easily prepare for the salt and burn tonight. He’d have to wait until it was dark, but then he could get to the cemetery.

Sam frowned as he walked though the campus. Two seniors were already dead, and if he didn’t do something, two more would be dead before the week was out.

Sam needed help. But he didn’t have anyone to go to for help. He could ask his family, but he doubted they’d even pick up their phones. Neither of them had the last five times he’d tried calling one of them.

And the rest of his Dad’s friends had no doubt already been told that he was a disgrace and no longer part of the family. So, really, he had no one.

Sam sighed. Fine then, he’d do this alone. No one would know about it, not that he cared about recognition. He just wished he could call for help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam smiled slightly as he jumped the fence to the cemetery. Some things were never forgotten, and how to jump a fence while carrying a shovel, sack of salt, flashlight, and lighter fuel was one of them.

Sam knew the general area where Betty’s grave was, so he orientated himself and headed that way. For a moment, he wished Dean was here, so he could have some help with this, and everything. Sam shook his head. Fine, so he missed having his brother around, missed working side by side with him, even missed the bad jokes Dean would have been making right now about engineering students.

Sam shook his head again. He was on a Hunt; it wasn’t time for him to get nostalgic for something he’d never have again.

As soon as he reached the right area, well back from any roads, he flicked on the flashlight and started searching the tombstones. It took some time, but about the time he was starting to get cold, he found it.

Sam turned the flashlight off and set the salt and lighter fluid down. He swung the shovel off his shoulder and into the dirt of the grave.

Sam was very grateful that it hadn’t rained in a few weeks. Digging graves was hard work even when the ground was dry; when it was wet, it was nearly impossible.

Still, Sam had become something of an expert at it in the past decade or so. He fell into the familiar rhythm of digging with ease. He might not want to Hunt, but he knew he was good at it.

An hour passed in silence as he worked. It was just too quiet.

Almost as soon as he had that thought, he froze. He could hear someone coming. He looked up from the hole he was digging, and saw the gleam of at least two flashlights headed his way. Silently, he cursed and scrambled out of the four feet deep hole.

He didn’t have time to hide any of his gear, so he simply grabbed his flashlight and dove behind a tree.

He watched as two figures- two very familiar figures- crept through the cemetery.

His grip tightened around the flashlight. What were they doing here?

The slightly shorter one stopped. “I found it,” he called out quietly. “And it looks like someone else is here, Dad.”

The other one turned. The two beams of light played over the partially dug grave with the shovel inside it, the bag of salt, and the lighter fluid.

“What the Hell is going on?” John Winchester asked.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “I could ask the same question,” he said as he slid around the tree and flicked his flashlight on.

“What… Sammy?” Dean asked.

“It’s Sam,” Sam responded. He knew they couldn’t see his face behind the flashlight.

“What…” John asked.

Sam scowled. “Do you mind? I have a salt and burn to finish.”

“What… Sammy? A salt and burn?” Dean asked.

Sam stalked past him and jumped down into the hole. “Yes. It’s where you dig up the corpse of a ghost, salt the bones, and burn them to get the ghost to move on,” he said. “So what the Hell are you doing in Palo Alto?” He picked up the shovel and started digging again.

Neither of the other men answered. Sam looked up after a moment. They were both staring at him. “Well?” he asked.

John took a deep breath. “What do you mean, what are we doing here?”

“What do you think?” Sam asked. “Shouldn’t you be dealing with something more important? It’s just a salt and burn, after all. And it’s hardly been in anything but the local news.”

Dean started. “Dad?” he asked.

John narrowed his eyes. “Sam…” he said warningly.

Sam snorted and returned to digging. He was angry, he knew, and he stabbed at the rather ground harder than he needed.

He looked up as Dean jumped down into the hole with his own shovel. “Looks like you could use some help there,” Dean said cheerfully.

Sam eyed him before returning to work, more carefully. John was keeping watch outside the hole.

Finally, he broke through to the coffin. He and Dean worked quickly after that. They soon had the coffin dug up and opened.

It was familiar and quick, salting the bones but just as Sam started pouring the lighter fluid on, the ghost appeared.

Sam ducked and just avoided the ghost’s outreached hands as it tried to strangle him.

“The shovel!” Sam yelled. “It’s iron!”

Dean grabbed the shovel and swung it at the ghost.

Sam scrambled back and pulled out his lighter. He had only a few seconds before the ghost reappeared, so he quickly flicked it and threw it onto the bones. Thankfully, they caught immediately.

The ghost reappeared, reaching out for Sam again, before vanishing in a burst of flames.

Sam, Dean, and John all relaxed slightly. Sam turned to watch the body finish burning. Dean came around behind him and watched with him. After a moment, Sam felt Dean shift slightly.

“Dude, did you get taller?”

Sam smiled briefly. “Yeah,” he said. “Another inch. I really hope I’m done.”

“You’re taller then me,” John said from Sam’s other side.

Sam nodded. He didn’t look at his father or his brother. He knew what they would say as soon as it was safe to do so.

As soon as the fire went out, Sam began shoveling dirt back in the grave. John helped him silently. 

When they were finished, Sam busied himself collecting his gear. He’d toss the empty bag of salt and the lighter fluid in the dumpster halfway to campus, and return the shovel to the gardening shed he’d borrowed it from.

“Sammy,” John said. Sam flinched. Here it came. John was about to…

“So, you still hunt?” Dean interrupted. He’d recognized John’s tone as well, and was trying to hold off a fight.

“When I need to,” Sam said. “If something’s local, and I find out about it.”

“How many hunts?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. “Five,” he said. “This was the hardest, actually. They’ve been pretty easy things.”

“You’ve been hunting without backup?” John rumbled.

Sam swung the shovel over his shoulder. “What backup did I have? I tried calling you when I found the first hunt. But you ignored me. And for the next three hunts. I got the message. I’m not part of the family anymore. So don’t bother criticizing me.”

Sam turned and began walking away.

“Sam!” John barked. “We’re not done talking.”

Sam stopped but didn’t turn around. “I think we are,” he said. “You made it clear that you don’t care about me,” he said.

“Don’t you say that,” Dean said. “You know we care about you. I never got those…”

Sam snorted. “I don’t have any evidence that Dad does,” he interrupted. “And you haven’t bothered talking to me either, Dean,” he sneered. “So, why don’t the both of you just leave me alone? You seem to like it better that way.”

He walked away, even though every fiber of his being was screaming at him to stop. He didn’t want to walk away, he couldn’t. But what choice did he have? He didn’t want a family that only cared about him because he was hunting. He needed more then that. And if he did stop, he’d never be sure that wasn’t the only reason they wanted him.

“Sammy!” Dean yelled. Sam flinched but kept walking. “Sam!”

Sam broke into a run. He couldn’t listen, not to Dean. If he did, he’d go back, to a family that didn’t love him for who he was, a family he still loved desperately.

“Sammy, don’t!” Dean yelled.

Sam ran.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, this ended up a lot more angsty then I’d planned. Um. Sorry? Sam wasn’t cooperating with the plan- a fluffy, AU reunion fic. So I ended up with this- a story where Sam is (if possible) even more on the outs with his family, because he thinks they’ll never like him for himself.


End file.
